


Learning to Share

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charming really does not like Neal and Snow is trying to convince him to give the boy a chance, and Emma is torn between amusement and being upset that her father is always so short with Neal and just doesn't tolerate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Share

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt from charmingfinchel on Tumblr. There's a bit of EmmaxNeal if you squint.

David has become quite the Mr. Mom of their household. Between Mary Margaret's breakdown and Emma's undying effort to regain Henry's trust, no-one else has really had the time to take care of things at home. He doesn't mind, though. As a shepherd, 'taking care of things' had been his daily grind, his bread and butter. And while Mary Margaret had been afforded time to bond with Emma in their homeland, he's suddenly found himself with a grown daughter he hardly knows and a wife who is only just now becoming herself again. He loves them, of course, but they seem so far away that all he knows to do for them is to keep them fed and keep them healthy. These are things he can do and do well.

 

(And then there's Henry. Henry who reminds him so much of himself it hurts. Henry who is always sneaking away and finding trouble. Henry who has trusted and loved him from the start, for no other reason than that he is his grandfather.)

 

So he does what he does best, and cleans up the dishes after dinner. It's not something he normally minds, but he feels that suddenly the sink is just a little too full; one plate too many.

 

_Neal_ is over again.

 

And not only is he over at _their apartment_ , but he's made himself at home on _their couch_ , telling Henry some (highly edited, David's certain) story about being chased on a bike through the back alleys of Brooklyn. Henry, of course, is totally sucked in, completely in awe of this epic (and most likely illegal) tale.

 

“Stop scowling at him.”

 

David jumps, startled to find his wife behind him, chin perched just over his shoulder.

 

“I'm not scowling,” he whispers back pointedly, and scrubs a particularly tough spot on what he's certain was Neal's plate.

 

“Uh huh,” she teases, voice still low. “I think that poor plate would disagree.”

 

He sighs, having realized the plate was long since clean, and hands it to Mary Margaret to dry.

 

“Give the poor boy a chance,” she chides. “What did he do to earn so much wrath?”

 

“Aside from impregnating our teenage daughter and leaving her to rot in jail?”

 

Mary Margaret doesn't get to respond, their hushed conversation interrupted by Henry, who is oblivious to the tension stirring around him. “You should join us, Gramps.” He's got his chin hooked over the back of the couch, smiling hopefully at his grandparents.

 

David stumbles over the words at first, wondering whether or not anyone else had heard his scathing remarks. Emma's looking at him with a mixture of amusement and frustration, and he's pretty certain she was eavesdropping. But Neal's smile is far too confident for him to have overheard. Finally, he manages, “What? What should I do?”

 

“Dad's going to show me how to do some tricks on my bike!” he explains, bouncing on the couch in excitement. “You should come with us.”  
  


David sets his jaw and takes a deep breath. He catches a warning glare from Mary Margaret and chooses the most diplomatic response he can think of. “That doesn't sound particularly safe.”

 

Henry gives him that _look_ (the one that reminds him that this little boy is going to be a teenager soon, and that thought alone terrifies him). “Mom said it was okay.”

 

“As long as you wear a helmet,” Emma specifies quickly, with a firm glance to Neal. “And pads.” She turns to her father, smirking. “It's not like you didn't put him on a _horse_ while we were gone.”

 

“He never actually rode the horse until you got back,” he points out a little too harshly, bristling at the thought of being compared to Neal.

 

Henry, obviously having realized that the conversation has been derailed, tries to set it back on course. “You should come, Gramps.”

 

“Yeah, _Gramps_ ,” says Neal, putting emphasis on the nickname with that over-confident smile and that even more overly-confident tone that makes David's stomach churn and fists clench. “Give it a try.”

 

(Later, Mary Margaret will tell him that Neal probably thinks the whole 'Gramps' thing is amusing, but he's not buying it.)

 

David feels Mary Margaret's elbow pressing into his side, and he doesn't need to ask to know what she wants; doesn't need to fight to know he won't win. So he sighs, puts on the warmest fake smile he can manage, and says that he'd love to join them for some bike tricks in the morning.

 

Eventually, all of the dishes get washed, and Neal takes Henry home with him for the night. (Just one night a week, he'd begged, but between Neal and Gold, Regina, and their own little family, it seems no-one really spends much time with Henry at all.) The door closes as Neal is explaining to Henry why his other grandfather _probably_ wouldn't be very good on their bike adventure.

 

“Thanks,” Emma says, coming over to sit across from David at the counter while he puts away the last of the dishes.

 

“For what?” he frowns, intent on pretending his previous hushed conversation with his wife had never happened. He passes her a fresh mug of tea.

 

“You know,” she says, accepting the mug and idly tracing her finger along the rim. “I know you hate him, but thanks for putting up with him anyway.”

 

“I don't hate him,” he replies, a little too defensively. He catches sight of Mary Margaret smiling at them, before disappearing into the bedroom alcove, closing the curtains behind her.

 

“Uh huh,” Emma grins. “Even though he … what was that again? 'Got me pregnant then left me to rot in jail'?”

 

David winces. “Sorry about that.”

 

“I know he's messed up before,” she says, eyes focused on her tea and not him. “But he's trying.”

 

David is certain this is crossing several of those unspoken boundaries between them, but he just can't stop himself in time. “You're not in love with him, are you?”

 

He sounds like a father, and not the father of an eleven-year-old boy but the father of a young woman looking for love in the most dangerous of places. He hears it in himself, and from the look on her face, she hears it too.

 

“Wha-wha-?” she stammers, somehow jostling her mug despite it having been resting on the counter. She buys herself time wiping up the spilled droplets with the edge of her sleeve. “No, no! Of course not!”

 

He doesn't need a superpower to know that isn't the whole truth.

 

“At least, I don't think so,” she amends quietly.

 

That's more like it.

 

As much as he'd like to talk her out of this terrible idea, he lets the subject drop, knowing he's pressed his luck too far already. “I guess I'm just … jealous,” he admits, and when he sees Emma peering at him expectantly over her tea, he elaborates. “Henry's never really had a strong male role model before, except maybe Graham.” Emma stiffens at the mention of the late sheriff, but remains silent. “So when you and Mary Margaret were gone, we really _bonded_. We had a really great connection, but now–”

 

“Now you have to share.”

 

He nods, a little ashamed to be complaining about this to Emma of all people. If anyone in this family has been cheated when it comes to spending time with Henry, it's Emma.

 

“It must be harder on you,” she says, eyes downcast as she tugs at a stray thread on her sleeve. “My kid's still a kid. I may have missed ten years, but I'll still get to see his first date, get to teach him how to drive – or, you know, how to fight a dragon.” David smiles at that, but feels the stinging threat of tears. “You,” she pauses, finally meeting his eyes, “ _we_ never got that.”

 

“We have now,” he whispers, willing back the tears as best he can.

 

She looks away again, and he wonders with dread if they've pushed too far too fast. “Let's … make a deal,” she says. “You go make a fool of yourself with Henry and Neal in the morning, and I'll let you take me out for drinks tomorrow night.”

 

He gapes at her for a moment. They'd never really spent time together alone, aside from these passing conversations. And she'd certainly never been the one to initiate any sort of bonding between them, until now. “You mean – you and me and … and Mary Margaret?”

 

“No,” she says quietly. “I was thinking – just us?”

 

“I'd like that.”

 

She stands, taking her tea with her, and heads up the stairs to her bedroom. Halfway up, she turns and bends down to look at him. “But only if you do the bike thing, okay? I'll never hear the end of it if you don't.”

 

He chuckles softly, trying to contain his excitement. Emma will never know the sacrifices he's made for her (and he hopes she never will). A morning with Neal Cassidy is nothing in comparison.

 

“Don't worry, I'll be there.”


End file.
